A single word, a defiant “You dare!” though softly spoken, echoed with earth-shattering power.

The youth, wielding a flying sword, his face flushed with audacity, blanched at Wang Lin’s low growl. He was but a fledgling cultivator of the Foundation Establishment stage. Now, he saw Wang Lin’s form towering, impossibly vast, his very voice twisting the heavens themselves.

A vast, unseen pressure materialized, crushing the youth. His face turned deathly pale, and he coughed up blood. The sword light in his hand dimmed, as if afraid to proceed. With a clatter, the blade slipped from his trembling fingers, and he stumbled backward in desperate retreat.

“Impossible! Impossible!” the youth shrieked, driven to madness. “You are but a mortal! An ant! You cannot inspire fear within me!” His mind reeled, his body convulsed, and his distorted cries struck disbelief into the hearts of the kneeling scholars below.

Never before, in all recorded history, had such a scene unfolded: a mortal daring to rebuke a celestial cultivator. The defiant “You dare!” resonated like thunder, a permanent echo in the minds of all who heard it.

As the first youth retreated, another stepped forward from within the wine house. His cultivation was far greater, a master of the mid-Foundation Establishment stage.

He placed a steadying hand on his shaken comrade’s back and raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the multitude kneeling in reverence, stopping only on Wang Lin and his servant, Da Fu, who stood tall.

In that single glance, he perceived a faint, yet terrifying aura swirling above Wang Lin’s head. The sheer power of it sent tremors through his very being. His mind was assailed by a flood of chaotic thoughts, threatening to overwhelm him, forcing him to choke on his own blood.

“Tomorrow, Wang will comprehend the Earth! What care I for your celestial cultivators? I see you as mere insects!” Wang Lin declared, his eyes blazing with righteous fire. His long hair danced in the wind as he swept his sleeve dramatically and took a long draught from his flask. “Not just you two, but all the immortals of Vermilion Bird Star, what can you do?!”

The youth’s scalp crawled with dread. This was beyond comprehension. A chilling realization dawned upon him: though seemingly fragile, the sheer force of Wang Lin’s righteous spirit, his unyielding defiance, was a power surpassing all spells and incantations. It could injure them both without lifting a finger, filling him with a soul-deep terror and a profound respect.

“How can this be? He’s just a mortal! A mortal!” he thought frantically. “How can such an aura emanate from him? This man… this man… we must not offend him!”

He dared not flee outright. Instead, he hovered in the air, his expression one of utter deference, as if greeting a respected elder. He bowed deeply towards Wang Lin, clasping his hands in formal salutation.

“We have offended you, Great Scholar. We beg your forgiveness. We shall depart immediately and never set foot within Su City again,” he said, before supporting his trembling companion and fleeing in a streak of colored light.

Silence descended upon the gathering.

Wang Lin stood his ground, taking another swig of wine. A gust of wind stirred, causing his white robes to billow around him, a vision of ethereal grace in the eyes of the onlookers.

“What is impossible?” Wang Lin lowered his flask from his lips, his gaze falling upon Su Yi, who had dared to question him earlier. The scholar was pale, trembling, and slumped on the ground.

Su Yi lowered his head, his body shaking uncontrollably. After a long moment, he forced himself to rise and bowed deeply towards Wang Lin.

“Su Yi offers his respects to the Great Scholar of Zhao!”

“We offer our respects to the Great Scholar of Zhao!” The rest of the scholars followed suit, clasping their hands in reverence, their eyes shining with an indescribable awe. This day, they would never forget.

Even the elderly men in their carriages lowered their heads in respect, humbled and convinced.

Never in their lives had they imagined that a mortal could astonish an immortal. Yet, they had witnessed it with their own eyes, a surge of complex emotions and pride welling up within them.

“If your thoughts are boundless, if you comprehend the principles of Heaven and Earth, then you may view immortals as mere ants.” This phrase, born of this day, would soon spread throughout the entire Zhao Kingdom.

“I am weary,” Wang Lin said, holding his wine flask. He cast a final glance towards the wine house, at the middle-aged man who stood frozen within, drenched in sweat, afraid to meet his eyes. The man bowed deeply, then Wang Lin turned and descended the steps, entering the inner courtyard with Da Fu.

The multitude of scholars within the courtyard continued to bow for a long time, before departing one by one. Until the entire street outside was empty, the various onlookers having dispersed, Su City slowly returned to its quietude.

No one dared utter a word of doubt. The storm that had raged earlier vanished without a trace. And so, Wang Lin’s reputation in the Zhao Kingdom soared, eclipsing even that of his master, Su Dao. He became the new Great Scholar of Zhao, the unprecedented scholar who had astonished the immortals!

Time flowed on. The words Wang Lin spoke ten years prior were still remembered, but none dared to question him. Those who came did so as students, listening with the utmost respect and humility to his teachings.

Spring turned to autumn, and eight years passed in the blink of an eye.

In those eight years, Wang Lin aged from a middle-aged man in his forties into a man in his fifties. Streaks of grey began to appear in his hair.

Almost every month, Wang Lin would take the aging Da Fu out on a painted boat, drifting along the canals, drinking sweet-scented wine. He was waiting, always waiting, for someone who seemed to have broken their promise. Not only for these eight years, but for the twenty years before that, Wang Lin had waited.

For twenty-eight long years, through twenty-eight seasons, the boat drifted beneath the stone bridges. But he never saw the person he was waiting for.

“Master, what are you waiting for…?” Da Fu, though aged, was still strong, but his stinginess had grown worse. He would often stare at his right wrist, trying to remember, but he could never recall anything.

“I am waiting for myself… waiting for a meeting with myself,” Wang Lin said, his voice raspy, his face etched with the marks of time, his gaze fixed on the heavens.

And in the heavens above, a single white bird circled endlessly, just as it had for the past twenty-eight years, unchanged.
The melody of the lute, faint yet persistent, filled the air as Wang Lin, weary from his vigil, leaned against the prow of the skiff. The lilting notes seeped into his drowsy mind, weaving themselves into the fabric of his dreams. Even there, in the ethereal realm of slumber, the music followed.

Da Fu, a sigh escaping his lips, gazed vacantly at his own weathered wrist, lost in contemplation.

The midday sun, benevolent and warm, bathed Wang Lin in its golden light, deepening his sleep. Yet, the season of the willow’s dance had arrived once more. Gossamer flakes of white, detached from their branches, drifted upon the breeze, one or two settling upon Wang Lin’s face, their touch a gentle caress that stirred him from his rest.

The painted boat continued its serene glide.

Wang Lin, watching the ethereal dance of the willow fluff, smiled faintly.

“Da Fu,” he began, his voice a low murmur, “do you recall, more than two decades past, when we first arrived in Su City? The willow’s snow fell then as it does now, and we were aboard this very *huafang*.” Even as the words left his lips, another painted boat approached from afar, its course intersecting theirs. In the brief moment of passage, two voices, soft as the rustling of silk, drifted from its deck.

“Sister, these willow sprites are a vexation! Their touch is most unpleasant.”

“Still your thoughts, and they will cease to exist. Your heart, little sister, is not at peace.” The voice struck a chord within Wang Lin, a resonance of familiarity. He rose, his gaze fixed upon the passing vessel, where two figures stood silhouetted against the falling fluff.

Two maidens, young and fair beyond compare, stood upon the deck. Bathed in the swirling snow, they seemed otherworldly, like celestial beings descended to grace the mortal realm. The wind, a playful rogue, toyed with their silken garments, enhancing their ethereal beauty.

“It…it is them…” Wang Lin whispered, his gaze fixed on the receding *huafang*. Before his eyes, the mists of time parted, revealing a rainy night, a humble boat with a dark awning, two decades gone.

A gentle smile graced Wang Lin’s face. He would never forget that night, the rain-drenched boughs above, the vastness of the world that had opened before him. He remembered the youthful exuberance, the impromptu verse offered to the heavens.

The sharp rebuke of Xu Fei echoed in his memory, the rain-filled night, the maiden’s face.

The memory of the crimson blush upon his cheeks, the frantic beat of his heart, the undeniable beauty of the two women, remained as vivid as the day they were etched into his soul. The warm coat, a gift given in the passing of the night, now wrapped away within a simple bundle of bamboo, never to be removed.

Wang Lin sighed, his fingers tracing the silver strands that now adorned his temples. He offered no greeting, content to remain where he was, sipping his wine.

Throughout his long years, no woman had truly captured his heart. His companions were the wine in his cup, Da Fu by his side, and the wheeling birds that painted the sky with their flight.

He had no wife, his life a solitary path walked in quiet contemplation.

Perhaps the only woman to stir his soul was the first, the one he had met so long ago, the woman called Zhou Rui, she who gifted him warmth on a storm-swept night.

Leaning back against the boat’s railing, he lifted the cup, the reflection of the moon dancing in the wine’s reflection. A gaunt face stared back, a visage aged by the unrelenting passage of time.

The *huafang* carrying the two women gradually moved away from Wang Lin’s skiff, drifting further and further until they were mere specks upon the distant horizon, like lives touching for a brief moment before drifting away.

“Elder Sister, did you see that old man? He was staring at us,” Xu Fei said, looking back over her shoulder at Wang Lin.

Their *huafang* passed beneath a stone bridge.

Zhou Rui turned her head, her gaze sweeping over the area. But their skiffs began to diverge, and a stone bridge obscured her view. She also thought little of a simple stare. She would not trouble herself with magic to see.

Her head snapped around, and the two continued on their way.

Wang Lin, seated upon his skiff, spoke softly to Da Fu.

“Da Fu, we shall leave Su City. Twenty-eight years have passed, and the waiting ends. We go home…”

“Home? Where is home, Master?” Da Fu asked.

“Beneath Heng Yue Mountain.” The boat drifted toward the shore. Wang Lin, his feet finally touching ground, turned back towards the river and Su City that he had made his home for so long.

He had come in the season of the willow’s dance, with a few bottles of wine, and a simple carriage for master and servant.

And so he would leave.